The Day Off
by bookwormgirl
Summary: Find out what I-Man agents do with time off
1.

Disclaimer: Please not that these chapters are a bit short (at least right now they are). My goal is to add a little bit at a time, so that there will be a little something new to read every so often in each chapter.   
  
  
  
  
The Agency office is quite. A look around tells you that the Agency is closed for the day. Offices are dark with the all lights off, doors are lock to intruders and unauthorized personnel and no one is around. Why is no one here? Has the Agency finally lost all hope of funding? Is everyone gone on assignment? Nope. The "power that be" have called for a holiday. All personnel are to take the day off. Although the Official will tell you that They called for a day off so that They can examine the Agency's funding reports, but he is not complaining. The Official has not had a day to himself since...since the Carter Administration! And so our story begins with the Official...  
  
  
  
  



	2. 

The alarm goes off automatically at 6:30AM. The shrill buzzing sound stirs the sleeping Official only slightly. He rolls over and slams his arm down on the snooze button, stopping the irritating noise. The Official groans. He tries to decide if he should get up now or wait until he's hungry for breakfast. "Might as well get up since I'm awake. Maybe I could go jogging today, eh Eleanor?", he chuckles. His eyes wander to the other side of the bed where Eleanor use to lay beside him. The Official sighs with longing. He misses his wife, now dead nearly 10 years. Everyday, he misses her.  
  
****  
  
In the kitchen, the Official starts to cook his breakfast. 2 fried eggs, 2 pieces of sausage, 2 pieces of bacon, 2 slices of bread with butter and jelly. Once all the food is prepared, the Official loads it onto his plate and sits at the kitchen table where his cup of black coffee awaits him. "A well balanced breakfast for a growing young man, eh Eleanor?", the Official chuckles out loud. "How long have I been doing this?", he thinks to himself, "It's not like she's can hear me or come walking through the doorway to ask me what I'm yapping about." He looks down at his breakfast plate. His food is gone, eaten so automatically that his mind has just caught up to what his body had done. Still hungry, he heads to the refrigerator to heat up the leftover biscuits and gravy from yesterday. "No wonder I'm in the shape I'm in," he thinks as he pops the container in the microwave. "God, what I'm I gonna do today!"  
  
****  
  
The Official walked slowly in the park, admiring the natural beauty of the day. His brain once again switched to autopilot and he found himself at the park bench that has lately become his "usual spot". The Official sat down on the bench. "Please don't let me be like those old men that end up feeding the damn birds all day long," he thought. "Then again, all I need is a bag of bread and crackers I'm there." He hated it when his Sponsors gave him a day off. In his younger days, he and Eleanor would look forward to it. Now, with Eleanor gone, he felt like a waste. He had long ago decided that if he didn't apply himself and his team, that They would see what a waste he really was. "Although, Darien and Hobbes do keep the Sponsors on their toes," he mused. Let them think that his agents are the loose cannons that he paints them to be for as long as possible. That way, retirement will never ever occur to Them. A few afternoon runners pass by the Official. They smile and he smiles back. He has the whole day ahead of him, and with no idea about what to do with it alone.  
  
****  
  
"This is starting to get pathetic," the Official thinks to himself. "Why do I put myself through this, Eleanor?" He stares at her gravesite. The cemetery is quite, with a cherrywood tree in full bloom next to her grave. It is the most serene he has felt in a while.   
  
Eleanor V. O'Hara  
Born June 21, 1937 Died November 5, 1991  
Beloved Wife & Mother  
"and the angels themselves did weep"  
  
Part of him knows that if he were at work right now he would be so busy that he wouldn't be giving Eleanor's demise a second thought. Then again, the other part of him knows that he would feel guilty just the same for forgetting about her. The Official dusts off the stray fallen cherry blossoms from the headstone. "I have to go now, but I'll be back as soon as I can." He smiles sadly at the irony of his words. That was the last words he said to her when she was alive." The Official puts his fingertips to his lips, and brings the finger-kiss to the top of the headstone and walks away.  
  
  
  
  



	3. 

The second the alarm sounds, Bobby Hobbes turns it off with one swift motion. He's been up for hours waiting, practicing to tune his body into the total darkness of the room. He sees himself as a stealth warrior who must stay in constant focus of the task of defending his country. He cocks his head to a small noise he hears coming from his window. "Just a bird," he thinks to himself, "or is it?" He listens longing until he is satisfied that the bird really is a bird, and not of someone pretending to be a bird so that they can catch him unaware. "Not gonna happen, my friend," he says aloud. "I am a specially trained machine. I am a federal government agent with years of experience. A virtual multitude of experience. Nobody is gonna sneak up on ol' Bobby Hobbes. No way, no how." He gets out of bed and looks at the clock. "Ooo, 'Huckleberry Hound' is on."  
  
****  
  
Hobbes turns off the TV set and walks to through the apartment to the master bathroom inside his bedroom. Stripping down to his boxers and bare feet, he turns on the shower to warm up the water and returns to the bedroom. Bobby gets his waterproof radio and brings it into the bathroom. After tuning in the station that he wants, he finishes undressing and steps in the now hot shower. "Just take those old records off the shelf," Hobbes croons along with the music as he scrubs his hair with shampoo. "I like that old time rock and roll, yeah babe!"  
  
****  
  
Finally dressed and ready to go, Bobby does his daily sweep of the apartment. He is looking for not only "bugs", but anything unusual or out of place. This was, to him, a sure sign that some enemy has been in his apartment during the night. This unseen force, in Hobbes' mind, was out to disclose everything they could find about him, about the Agency, about the work he does and is doing, EVERYTHING. He checks the closets, under furniture, behind curtains. He is very careful to touch as little as possible the areas that he is inspecting. Hobbes knows that most high-tech surveillance equipment is capable of picking up motion. He doesn't want to tip off the enemy that he has found their listening devices. He has done this daily sweep faithfully every day for close to 20 years, and has yet to find anything incriminating or unexplainable. "But that doesn't mean it's not there, or that tomorrow it won't be there," he thinks to himself. "You never know, ya know. Better safe than sorry. That is the Boy Scout motto." Hours pass before he is satisfied that it is safe to leave. "Ok then, I guess I'll just go to the mall for a while," he says to the empty apartment. Bobby smirks as he exits the apartment, thinking that he has, once again, fooled the enemy into thinking he was going somewhere that he actually was not. "Very smart, Bobby Hobbes, very smart."  
  
****  
  
"Your usual, Mr. Smith?" asks the clerk behind the counter. "Yes. Thank you, Fred. What's the word today?" Hobbes says to the clerk while he takes a look around the establishment. The clerk turns his back from Bobby for a moment, "Well, Lane 4 just got a new coat of wax just this mornin'. Lane 7 and 8 are rollin' pretty good from what I hear," he calls from over his shoulder. Fred then turns to face Bobby. In his hands are Hobbes' favorite shoes. Normally, Bobby would have his shoes with him when he came in, but they have been in the repair shop that is located onsite at the bowling alley. Bobby inspects the shoes carefully, "Good job," he says to the clerk, "as usual." He then slips Fred a $20 as a thank you. "Thank you, Mr. Smith. Oh, just to let you know," Fred leans over the counter close to Hobbes and whispers, "There are a some of newbies on Lane 2." Hobbes picks up his shoes and bowling ball bag. He gives a Fred a knowing wink, as if to say, "Gotcha, understood" and heads for Lane 8.  
  



	4. 

Claire stretches her arms as she slowly wakes up. The cat is already meowing at her feet. "No reason to set an alarm with you in the house, eh Pretty?" she says to her pet. The Keeper stands up and walks to her kitchen, only pausing briefly to put on her robe. "Whatever shall we do today Pretty?" she asks the cat while on her way to her kitchen. "Should we work on analyzing nanomolecules? Or would you like to reorganize my quicksilver database files?" Pretty looks up at her and meows. "You're right. Food first, then work."  
  
****  
  
With the cat now fed and herself now dressed, the Keeper walks into her living room. "Where to start?" she says aloud, "The floors or the shelves?" Claire turns to her cat, which is now on the plush sofa cleaning her paws. "The shelves it is." Claire goes into the kitchen pantry and gets her cleaning supplies. Armed with dust rags, wood polish, glass cleaner and other items, Claire makes her way back to the living room to get started on her much needed spring cleaning.  
  
****  
  
The doorbell rang around mid-morning. Claire walked to the door, looking back to make sure at least the lower level of the house looked presentable. "Hello, you must be Claire," said a nicely dressed young woman, "My name is Sami. We talked on the phone yesterday about your ad?" Claire smiles, nods and politely lets the woman in her home. Secretly she had been dreading this moment. She knew that she couldn't keep Pretty, but she had become so attached to the cat over the last couple of days. "Yes, well hum, won't you have a seat? I'll try to see if Pretty is around so that you two can become better acquainted." "Oh no hurry." Sami appeared nice enough, in the Keeper's opinion. The Keeper wanted to make sure that she put Pretty in a good environment. She couldn't forgive herself if Pretty was mistreated because of Claire's neglect. That is why she didn't take the cat to an animal shelter when Claire first found her a couple of days ago. Finding Pretty tucked in the blanket Claire had given her to use as a bed, Claire picked up the cat and took her into the living room where Sami sat neatly. "You named her very well!" said Sami, "She is beautiful, aren't you Pretty?" Sami holds the cat in her arms with care and begins to pet her soft coat. "You should have seen her when I found her. Covered in mud and sand and wet from the rain. Poor dear didn't look as if she had eaten in a while too." Claire smiled at the memory of that night. "Why are you giving her up? You seem to like her." "I already have a dog and I'm not at home much as it is. Have two animals to depend on me wouldn't exactly be fair for them." What she didn't tell Sami is that Pavlov had a massive fit when Claire first walked in with the cat, and hasn't been all that grateful to share HIS space with the stray. "Where is your dog anyway? It doesn't bite?" The woman looked about nervously for the missing animal. "No, no. He's been at the vet's. Yesterday he got into a spat with the poodle next door. Poor Pavlov took a bit of a beating, but he'll be home later today." The two women chatted a little bit more, but it became obvious that Sami was ready to leave. Claire gave her what little food she had left for Pretty and the blanket that Pretty had been sleeping on. "It will help her with the transition of moving into a new place," she told Sami. "Thank you again, so very much. Are you sure you won't take any money for her?" The Keeper nodded. "Yes, I'm sure. I just wanted her to have a good home. I'm not looking to make a profit off this poor creature. She's been though quite enough as it is." With that, Sami picked up Pretty and her things waved goodbye and left. Claire sighed. She had grown accustom to the cat in the short time it was with her, but Pavlov needed her more. The Keeper needed Pavlov too. That in mind, Claire headed out to the vet to bring home her beloved "child", Pavlov.  
  
***  
  
Pavlov was happy to be home, the Keeper could see that. With the small dog in her arms and the ointment the vet have given her, Claire knew that today would be a good day to stay at home. Pavlov, immediately upon arrival, started to look for the now gone Pretty. "She got a new home now, so you won't have anyone to push around anymore," she says with a smile. "Except me, of course." The veterinarian had explained Pavlov's ointment directions to her, so she knew that her dog would be ok for a couple of hours before she would need to reapply it. "He is a handsome kind of fellow, isn't he?" she asks out loud. Pavlov cocks his little head in her direction. "I mean, if you're into that sort, of course." She puts her dog on his little doggy bed and heads for the living room. Claire picks up the remote and turns on the TV. "Oh good, I didn't miss it!" On the screen appears the opening credits to "Young and the Restless." The Keeper settles herself on the couch for the next hour, totally absorbed in her favorite soap.  
  



	5. 

Darien is running. Sweat is pouring down his face as his feet pound the street hard, but he feels ecstatic. The burglary went smoother than silk. Not a trap was tripped or an alarm was harmed, as the professionals would say. "This is the last job I pull for you, Arnaud. I don't care how much money you throw at me." Darien turns his head to the man running next to him. Arnaud smiles at Darien, who in turn smiles back. "One of these days, my friend, it'll be just you and me and a couple of bikini-clad beauties on a tropical beach with more money than we can spend," Arnaud says to Darien, "What do you say, partner?" Just then, Darien pitches forward and awakens from the dream. He is sitting up, breathing hard and clutching his chest. He feels as if he really had been running. His eyes sweep quickly over his room, making sure that he was dreaming. The clock next to his bed reads 10:00am. "Aww crap," Darien sighs as he lets himself fall back onto his pillow.  
  
  
****  
  
Milk dribbles down Darien's chin as he scoops another large spoonful of Chocolate-Frosted Sugar Bombs into his mouth. He crunches the cereal hard, as there is more cereal in the bowl than milk. If it weren't for the fact that he was eating over the sink, Darien would have made a big mess. Life is good. That dream, however, was more of a nightmare than he would have liked. The bad part was they were getting more frequent as the nights past. At least he got today off. A day off is what he really needed after the last assignment. Darien thinks back briefly on how the plan played out like it did. For once, Hobbes' paranoia paid off. "Sometimes," he thinks, "I underestimate the little fella." Darien finishes his cereal and drinks the milk from the bowl. As he wipes his mouth with the back of his hand, he ponders the great philosopher Doris Day, "Whatever will be, will be."   
  
****  
  
He was very tempted to go out and "play", but with the Agency closed up, he'd have no access to counteragent. "Can't go into QM today. They'll know why and keep me under lock and key to get me under control," he thought sadly. However, being "up to something" was exactly what he wanted to do. Days like this he was just itching to pull a job, any job, especially now that he has a special toy to use. "What good is it to have invisibility, if you can't use it?" He pondered this often. Some of the fun things he used to do with the quicksilver have been done to death. Having his arm "severed" in the hood of a car, parking in the handicap spot at the mall, getting into the movies without paying, all of this has gotten old. As Darien thinks about how he wants to spend his day, he throws on a pair of jeans and a shirt that smells clean enough to wear. The clock reads 11:30AM. "Almost noon," he says, "Might as well grab a Big Mac and head over to the park. Maybe I can harass the mime some more." That idea brings an instant smile to his face.  
  
****  
  
Darien takes another huge bite out of his sandwich as he walks through the park. He looks around casually, drinking in the people around him and making mental notes about them. "Mother with kid and unattended shopping bag. Nah, probably full of diapers. Business chick sittin' on blanket, unattended purse. Possible, very possible. Joggers. No pockets, no cash." As he looks for a good mark (not that he intends to rob anyone, but it never hurts to keep the senses sharp, he tells himself), he spots the back of an overweight man sitting on a park bench. "Now that looks promising," he tells himself as he stuffs the last bite of the sandwich into his mouth. He follows the trail around the park. The path he is on would go right past the obviously, lonely man. Slowly, as the man on the bench comes into full view, Darien thinks that this particular "mark" looks very familiar. Suddenly, as if hit in the gut, he stops short. "Is that the 'Fish?" He talks a longer look. It is. "What is he doing out here?", Darien wonders. He notes that the Official is just sitting there, as if in a trance or deep thought. "Well, I'll be! The ol' boy is human after all," he thinks to himself. Darien starts to approach the Official, but then looks more at his face. The Official has the look of a man who just found out someone close to him has died. Obviously, this is not the time to ask for a raise or tell him a joke. Before Darien can decide what he should say to him, the Official gets up and starts to walk in his direction. Darien, thinking quickly, looks around to see that no one is around, steps to the side and quicksilvers. The Official walks right past him with the same trace-like expression on his face. Darien reappears once he is sure that the Official is a safe distance away. "This doesn't look good," and Darien proceeds to follow the Official out of the park.  



	6. 

Albert Eberts wakes up promptly at 6:00am. He rises from his bed and starts his usual morning routine. Shower and shave (30 minutes), brush hair and teeth (10 minutes), get dressed and make bed (15 minutes). Eberts then goes to his closet to pick out is sleepwear for that evening and clothes for tomorrow. He lays each item neatly on top of the dresser and hangs his suit for tomorrow on the butler's chair, the new furniture piece that his mother gave him last Christmas. Eberts lightly dusts off any stray threads from the suit and exits the bedroom, pausing only to give the room one last look to make sure that all is in picture-perfect place.  
  
****  
  
Eberts stuffs his sweaty clothes and gym shoes into his gymbag. Jazzercise class had run longer today than normal. He'd have to skip his normal trip to the juice bar to get back on the schedule for today. A regretable decision, he admits. He does enjoy a cool, frosty orange-pineapple drink after a workout...and talking to the new juice girl. He smiles at the thought of their last little chat. "What is her name again?" he wonders, "Traci? Trixie? Trinity! That's it." Not that he could ever bring himself to asking her out on a date. "Mother would have a fit," he thinks to himself. He exits the gym and heads for his car. "Next on the To Do List," he thinks to himself, "grocery shopping."  
  
****  
  
Eberts returns home armed with two bags of groceries, both back are fully packed. He walks into his kitchen and begins to put away the groceries in the correct places. All of the inside cabinets, as well as the pantry, are clearly labeled least he forgets, which he hasn't and never does. All of the 4 basic food groups are well represented. As he reaches into the bottom of the first bag, he spots the package of Oreos. Eberts knew he shouldn't have bought them. Yet, the idea of cookies, chocolate cookies with a rich non-nutritious filling, being in his home was just too sinful to resist. The thought of eating one right now entered his brain like a slow virus. "Groceries first then sweets," he said aloud. Eberts continued to put away the rest of the groceries, but kept the Oreos on the counter in plain view.  
  
****  
  
Albert starts to cook his dinner in his usual fashion. First he dons his "Kiss the Cook" apron. Next he gets out his trusty cookbook, and then he gets out all the ingredients necessary for the meal. Finally Eberts retrieves the essential cooking utensils. He has decided on a simple fair tonight, since he will be going out this evening. Eberts decides on having roast duck breast with a lime marinade, herbed garlic potatoes and candied carrots, whole-wheat rolls, and for dessert, vanilla bean frozen yogurt with chocolate ganache and crushed Oreos. Nothing too complex. Eberts starts cooking.  



End file.
